Page 41 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

I watch his reaction as if I had made the bacon myself. He relaxes, his eyes closed as he savors it.

Finally, he looks at me straight in the eye.

“So?” I ask, reaching for a piece of crispy to push away the nerves.

“That is hands-down the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” He tastes the peppercorn-crusted kind, then points the half-eaten piece at me. “You’ve got to be careful bringing food like this around. That’s so good, it could make someone fall in love.”

I inhale so sharply that it hurts.

Rhoads’s eyes sparkle with that mischief I’ve come to look for. “Guess it’s a good thing Greg and Lou are already married, or admirers would swarm them.” We polish off the rest of the sampler, then he stands and holds out a hand to me. “Alright, Baker. Time to show me your moves.”

Seventeen

CHLOE

Igrab my string bag and follow him back through the hall, my heart still pounding. Of course he didn’t mean he’d fall in love with me. That’s absurd.

We cut through the kitchen. Dani and her friends are flipping through a magazine and eating cookies. We go out the back door and onto the porch. Rhoads’s cleats are already out, and he laces up while I take off my extra layer.

The cool breeze blows across my legs and arms as I pull up my long socks and lace up my own cleats.

By the time I’m done, Rhoads has set up a miniature goal and a few cones. He flashes a winning smile. “Alright, Baker. Show me what you’ve got.”

I instinctively place myself between Rhoads and the goal.

Rhoads passes me the ball, circles behind me, and nudges me in the back. “Nope. You’re attacking first.”

“But I’m⁠—”

“Already good at defending. I want to see your foot skills. Start back at that cone and work your way toward goal.”

I do as I’m told, raking the ball with my cleat as I jog to the neon orange cone about fifteen yards away. When I turn back around, Rhoads is in a defensive stance. But his feet are too close together. I leave the ball where it is and jog back over to him. “Your feet are out of position.”

He looks down at them, as if noticing for the first time that he does, in fact, own feet.

“Can I adjust them?”

He laughs. “Of course. Yeah. Please.”

I tap his right foot with mine. “Move this one out just a bit more. It’ll help you sink lower in your hips and give you better balance for changing position.”

He does, then sinks lower, as I suggested. Not quite a squat, which would be too much, but enough that the definition in his quads has me blushing. “How’s that?”

I clear my throat. “Great. Yep. Okay, I’m going back over there now.” In position, I tap the ball between my feet to get a feel for it. My shoulders relax as I breathe in the familiar grassy smell. My well-worn cleats, molded to my feet, grip the soft yet firm ground, hugging it hello after too long apart. Even though this is a makeshift field, it has the same energy as every other pitch. Anticipation. Competition. The thrill of pushing my body to do complex moves. “I assume the goal is my target?”

Rhoads nods. “Good luck.” He smirks, and that’s what gets me fired up to beat him.

There’s the cocky striker I knew was hiding inside.

I dribble toward him slowly at first, getting the lay of the land. His body is angled, trying to guide me to the left because he assumes it’s my weaker foot. In my head, I laugh. I’m right-handed, but I trained my left leg to be even stronger than my dominant right, simply for the fact that most players favor their right. I needed something to help me stand out. A pocket ace.

I do a stutter-step and fake right but cut back toward my left.

Rhoads pivots and steps forward. I hit the ball too hard during my move, and he fills the space I’m heading for. He gets there first, his right foot knocking the ball out of the way.

But I’m mid-step with no chance to change direction, and my forward momentum carries me directly into his chest.

His arms wrap around me to stop me from falling. “You okay?” he says into my ear. That woodsy citrus scent should be as illegal as steroids for how it’s altering my body chemistry. His breathing pace matches mine, a little heightened from the physical exertion. Of course, that’s all it is.